Aliyah’s P.O.V
Ottavio led me to the car parked outside in silence, the cool night air brushing against my bare shoulders as I clutched my purse tightly. I climbed in, refusing to meet his gaze. My skin still crawled from Brown’s touch, and no amount of fresh air could erase the filth I felt inside.
He slid into the driver’s seat, wordless, his jaw set in that perpetual scowl of his. The car roared to life, and the city lights blurred past as we drove in silence.
The tension was suffocating. The sound of the tires humming against the asphalt was the only thing between us.
My fingers trembled as I reached for the bottle of water on the dashboard. Before I could even open it, his voice cut through the silence low, rough, and annoyingly calm.
“You might want to chug that down,” he said,
